


It Only Hurts (When I Breathe)

by Anonymous



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Asexual Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Dysphoria, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Graphic Panic Attack, I was ‘Virgil’, No Fluff, Non Binary Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Panic Attack, This happened earlier today, Trans Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Trans Male Character, Unsympathetic Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Virgil was born female, all hurt/no comfort, being told you’re straight, ftm roman, my genderqueer sibling was Roman, ventfic, virgil and roman are brothers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:34:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22744858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: It matters, because there are some clothes that don’t look good on your body, and they make you feel wrong, like a gut feeling that settles allwrong. Wouldn’t Roman know that?Or, Virgil, in an argument, brings up that they aren’t exactly entirely cis. Roman, unfortunately, does not take it as well as Virgil hoped he would.
Relationships: Creativity | Roman “Princey” Sanders & Anxiety | Virgil Sanders
Comments: 11
Kudos: 73
Collections: Fanfic Anonymous





	It Only Hurts (When I Breathe)

Virgil was going to go swimming. 

A stupid idea in hindsight, as not only did their relatives not know they were nonbinary, they were also catholic. 

They hadn’t thought about being enby for long, not long enough to gain the confidence to ask for things like a better swimsuit (although they were planning to ask for a new one, and blame it on their growth spurt). So, they had a one piece. A ‘girls’ suit, as the doctor who had birthed them had assigned that label. One that until a couple months now, they assumed fit.

They were pacing in their room, flinching at the voices outside. Virgil had excused themselves to go change, but now that the suit was on, it seemed tight. Almost too tight, but not in the way that they needed a new one. Just...it fit wrong.

They went over to their closet and grabbed a pair of shorts. They liked this pair because it had pockets, but was a smooth and silky material, contrasting the ‘boys’ look of cargo shorts. This had made them feel slightly better, but there was still the matter of picking out a shirt. 

The door opened and Roman, their brother, walked in. Virgil barley gave him a glance.

“Hey to you too, sis.” He said.

Virgil’s head snapped up, the overwhelming urge to correct him nearly winning out. There was a good chance that Roman wouldn’t really care, as he himself was trans, but Virgil couldn’t force themselves to correct him.

Instead, they focused on the task of finding a shirt. They ransacked their whole closet, brushing past shirt after shirt. This one was too tight, this one was too small. This had an ugly color, and this one was decent but it showed off their boobs. 

Roman glanced up to Virgil who was throwing shirt after shirt behind him, his hands hunting through the laundry basket. 

“You...good?” He asked. 

_No,_ Virgil wanted to shout. “Fine.” 

Roman shrugged, pulling on his coverup. Virgil turned back to his closet, trying to find a shirt. There was one he saw, one that they had gotten from Oatman when the family was visiting their grandparents that lived in Arizona. It was long and loose, and hung almost perfectly.

They walked out of the closet, then turned around.

“Hey Roman.” Virgil said.

“Yeah?”

They walked out again, then, stifling a laugh said, “I’m asexual.”

Roman scowled for a second, but didn’t say anything, leading Virgil to wonder whether Roman had scowled at all. 

They frowned, turning back to the closet to pick up the Oatman shirt. “Should I have come out the deck instead?” They joked. Roman still didn’t say anything. 

Choosing to ignore him, they put on the shirt, but upon putting it on, saw a shirt on their bed that would also work. It was a blue one, white some white lettering that spelled out Virgil’s old church’s logo. They had worn it a few days ago, so it was a bit wrinkly, but they were just wearing it as a coverup, so it wouldn’t matter too much, right?

They walked over to their bed, and changed shirts. The blue shirt also worked, but it was wrinkled and didn’t really look good on the blue shorts. 

Virgil started muttering to themselves, working out the pro’s and con’s outloud, which made it easier, in Virgil’s opinion. 

“What are you muttering about?” Roman asked, a little standoffish.

“Does this look okay?” Virgil asked.

“Fine? Does it matter?”

“Yes, it matters.” Virgil said. How could he not know that? Of course it matters, because there are some clothes that don’t look good on your body, and they make you feel wrong, like a twisty feeling in your stomach. Wouldn’t Roman know that? They thought everyone felt the same. 

“Well, I think it looks fine.” Roman said. “Untuck it, though.”

Virgil glanced down. Unconsciously, they had tucked it in. They liked doing that, because otherwise it was too easy to pin them as a girl. He pulled it out with a sigh. 

The blue shirt would work, but then there was the Oatman shirt. It was more girlish colors, a tie-die of light blue and green, but it was better than full blue on blue. Hopefully.

Suddenly, they remembered the shirt their church had given them. It was an adult medium, right? So was the blue shirt, but this one was black.

Virgil inwardly cheered, not wanting to piss off Roman by making any more noise. They grabbed the black shirt, pulling it on on their bed. 

Instead of being what they had hoped for, however, it was tight. And it didn’t hang, rather clutched tight to their waist. They could see every curve of their body, and the shirt was too tight. Too tight. They could see their chest that they had been ‘lucky’ to get the genes of. They hated them. They were wrong, wrong, wrong, and Virgil could see them because of the shirt that was tight, and it was choking him, and _get it off-_

Fuck, they were having a panic attack.

They glanced over to Roman, silently begging for help, but he was listening to music and watching something on his phone. 

Virgil gave a croak, and buried their face in their hands as Roman glanced over for a second.

“Why are you crying?”

Virgil couldn’t look up. They couldn’t do anything. They hoped Roman would press, would come over and help them, but he just turned away again, only to turn back when Virgil sobbed again.

“Will you stop?” He snapped.

 _They were trying._

“Okay, Virgil,” They whispered, “Deep breaths, like YouTube taught you. 4-8-7.”

They gave some choky breaths, trying to follow the pattern. Once they had started getting it down, they moved to the next goal. Getting their hands out of their head. 

Slowly, they lifted it up, and the blurry room came into view. Roman was still jacking around on his phone, both his headphones in. 

Virgil took off the shirt, and slid the blue one back on, now feeling calm enough to speak.

“Hey Roman, is this shirt okay?”

“You already asked me that, dummy.”

He did? “Well, is it?”

“Does it matter?”

“Of fucking course it matters, Roman!” Their eyes widened. They hadn’t meant to shout.

“The fuck, Virginia? Watch your tone!”

“Is it?” They insisted.

“Why do you care?”

“Because...because-“

“Exactly. It doesn’t. You look fine.”

“Sorry I’d want a second opinion when I’m having fucking panic attacks about my outfit.” Virgil said, storming over to their closet.

Roman snorted. “That wasn’t a panic attack.”

“The hell would you call it, then?” Virgil shot back.

“You threw a hissy fit about clothes like the self-centered bitch you are.”

“I’m-“ Virgil stopped, actually out of words to say. “That was not-you took a corner of the picture and boiled it down, and based me off that.”

“Enlighten me to the bigger one, then.”

“I can’t decide what looks better on me.” Fuck, that didn’t come out right. “I mean-“

“Nope, no take backs! That was the big picture and I don’t see a difference from that and what I said.”

“If you would just listen-“

“Oh,” Roman said sarcastically, “Because what you’re saying is _so_ nice, Vi.”

“ **Don’t. Call. Me. That.** I’m not a-“ They hesitated. “I’m not a girl.”

Roman waved his hand. “Oh, yes you are. You are the most straightest/cis person I have ever met.”

“Then why am I having severe dysphoria whenever I put on a tight shirt? Huh?”

Roman sneered. “Us gays aren’t the only ones who have dysphoria. Doesn’t mean you’re not cis. Hell, I don’t even think you’re ace,” he snarled, “You are just young. And easily influenced. I’m your influence. Just because I’m trans, just because I’m gay, does _not_ automatically make you gay or trans. Stop being such a whiney copycat and own up to it.” 

He started clapping with every word for emphasis. “You. Are. A. Heterosexual. Allosexual. Cisgendered. Human being.” He finally stopped clapping, seeing that he made Virgil cry. “Try to get it right. Don’t go pretending to be something you’re not.”

With that he left the room.

Virginia’s throat felt sore. Roman knew what he was talking about. He was a member of the community. Virginia was not. She was straight, and cis, and should stop pretending. Even her asexuality, which she had identified with for a little over a year now, seemed silly. She couldn’t _really_ be ace. She hadn’t even graduated high school yet! There were probably plenty of guys that would...that would...

Virgil broke down crying. They allowed themselves one, two minutes of crying before wiping off their tears.

Her brother was right. She was Virginia, and she was straight. That was the truth.

They-no. _She_ just wished it didn’t hurt so much.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think or if there is anything wrong with the fic. I’m not sure if this counts as dysphoria but I tagged it anyway. High key a vent fic, almost this exact conversation happened earlier.
> 
> Have a good day everyone, and may all your family be supportive of your life choices over who you are.


End file.
